Jar Full Of Quarters
by Lisaand
Summary: The void in my heart lessens each time I close a bedroom door behind me and hungrily kiss a new girl on the lips, but when it's all over, All I'm left with is that feeling of emptiness again, the feeling of messing up yet another girl. And that mocking sound of a new quarter being deposited into the jar.
1. Chapter 1

A.N: not sure if anyone even remembers this, but I wrote this around May, only for it to be taken down due to the tense that I used. I meant to put it back up, but never got to it till now. I miss writing for this fandom and I really like the idea of this piece, so I'll gradually add more to it. Hope you enjoy, reviews are always appreciated.

* * *

I always make sure to add a new quarter to the jar that I keep hidden in my dresser drawer. I'm the only one that knows what each quarter represents, while anyone else would just assume that I'm saving up loose change or whatever.

Oh, if only.

I feel as if I should feel proud when I see the half full glass jar of quarters, just sitting in the bottom drawer. It only took a little less than a month to get it to the halfway mark that it is at now.

But what is there to feel proud about?

Each quarter is from a different girl that I have had a meaningless night in bed with. They would always look at me funny when I would ask if they had a quarter to spare...but they'd give it anyway, if they had one that is. On the off moment when a girl had no quarter, I would ask for a dime—whatever loose change they had on them. They always have at least a cent to give, and I keep each one securely in the jar.

I'm afraid to actually dump the contents of the jar onto a table and just count them individually. Knowing how many girls I've slept with just seems so...overwhelming, so wrong.

It's always at a party, where I pick up some random girl. Sometimes they go to my school, but most of the time I make sure that they don't. It's not like they'd say anything to me at school, it's just the guilt of sleeping with someone that I don't want to have to see just about everyday.

I keep telling myself that I shouldn't feel guilty.

It's not like I'm in a relationship or put something in a girl's drink to get her to go upstairs with me. The girls that I pick are always more than willing, they usually know about me and my...condition.

It was only a few days ago where I noticed that each girl that I sleep with has most likely broken up with their boyfriend. It's always a girl that is just doing...well something, for attention. Whether it be the skimpy clothes that she's wearing or the way she dances, they always just scream,

Tell me I'm pretty—that you want me.

And they are. God, how pretty the girls always are...I make sure to tell them so, too. Not because it's like I should feel obligated to do so, in fear of her not giving me head or letting me penetrate her. I just want to reassure the girl that whoever hurt her, was an idiot and that she could do so much better...better than a meaningless night with me, but I never tell them the last part.  
I may not be all that much better than the guy that cheated or was just a complete asshole, but at least I help girls forget.

Every girl deserves to be told that they are pretty, even under a messed up circumstance.

I never force myself onto a girl. No, just— no. I treat them how they would want to be treated during sex...in a way that is. It's not like I have romantic feelings towards them and really, I'm just trying to get off.

Yeah, the whole process is very confusing...and alcohol really doesn't help, either.  
But I just can't stop it though. Technically I'm taking advantage of girls, right? Obviously if they weren't drunk and in a state of vulnerability, they wouldn't be so eager to let me pull them into an unoccupied bedroom…right?

The void in my heart lessens each time I close a bedroom door behind me and hungrily kiss a new girl on the lips, but when it's all over, All I'm left with is that feeling of emptiness again, the feeling of messing up yet another girl.

And that mocking sound of a new quarter being deposited into the jar.

* * *

The other night, I met this girl named Heather, Heather Fox. The resemblance she and Jade have—it's almost scary.

Heather and I didn't have sex...but we did make out in a spare bedroom, if that counts?  
I think that it's wrong, to kiss a girl that looks like the girl who makes me have all of these weird feelings...feelings that I shouldn't have because not only is she in a relationship with a guy, she's in a relationship with my best friend.

I most likely broke some sort of friendship code by making out with the Jade look-alike. They may be two different people, but I only see one when I look into those captivating blue eyes.

There is something seriously wrong with me, but I already knew that.

* * *

So apparently, Heather really likes me.

She went to my school a few months back, in hope of recruiting some talented makeup students to do the makeup for some of the student models that were doing a photo shoot at her school, so they could add the photos to their portfolios.

She said that she saw me performing a song for my song writing class and the next thing she knew, she wanted to introduce herself.

But unlike Jade, she's quite timid with strangers. Unlike Jade, she'll stutter a bit in her sentences...but speak with such charisma when needed.  
If someone were to ask me to list the differences between Heather and Jade, I'd have them down on paper in a heartbeat.

* * *

It's not that I don't like Heather… She's a sweet girl, too sweet if possible...but really what am I even doing? Holding Heather's hand—giving her hope for something that I know that I can never give her.

Heather isn't like all the other girls that I've slept with, especially since we aren't even having sex, we just hold hands.

It's a bittersweet type of feeling.

I make sure to tell her how pretty she is and how I think that she'd make a great model when she's older.

I always make sure to ask for a quarter after our little 'dates' or whatever it is that the two of us are sharing.

* * *

Heather really likes to make-out in public.

It's not that I don't like making out with her, it's actually quite amusing when the two of us are making-out in a public park and an elderly couple will rudely comment about how 'indecent' kinds are now a'days.

Heather isn't a bad kisser, either. She likes to sit right on my lap and wrap her arms around my neck, while giving me teasing pecks to the lips.

Heather likes the act of exhibitionism, apparently. We've been hanging out a lot lately, but haven't had sex just yet—unless dry humping counts...but when the two of us are in a public place with a few people, Heather enjoys flashing me. She must get turned on by it or something, because the next thing I know she's on my lap, nipping at my neck, for all to see.

She's just a huge tease, but she proves that there is no such thing as complete innocence.

* * *

I have two glass jars in front of me.

One is the almost full jar of quarters from all of my meaningless one-night stands, while the other jar which isn't even halfway full yet, is from the time that I had spent with Heather.

There is another quarter from Heather pressed tightly in the palm of my left hand. I look from the jar on the left, to the jar on the right.

I place the quarter in the jar on the left.

* * *

I did the right thing, telling Heather that the two of us shouldn't hang out anymore. She was slowly crossing the line...the line where feelings actually count. I can't do that to her, I can't let her fall in love with me, only to tell her that I can't love her back.

Yet I could have sex with her, and feel nothing afterwards.

It's getting that much easier to not feel, and it's scaring the shit out of me.

* * *

Beck is whispering sweet nothings into Jade's ear today. She has the beautiful smile on her face right now, the smile that rarely ever graces her face.

I just want to make her smile...but I can't do that, not when she's dating Beck.


	2. Chapter 2

A.N:Thank you for your feedback on the last chapter. Comments are always appreciated.

* * *

"You should really learn to use proper chopsticks." I mumble as Robbie stops mid-chew of his ramen noodles.

He hovers his hand over his mouth and frowns. "Why?" he asks.

"Did you not notice the used napkins that those little girls were throwing at us?" I question with a raised brow as I use my wooden chopsticks to point to said several balled up napkins that are at our feet.

"Oh...I thought they were just being polite by passing us some napkins..."

"Robbie, they blew their noses into those napkins and then called us 'whazbags' as they threw them."

"Let's just enjoy our meal..shall we?"

I huff out in annoyance as yet another used napkin is thrown in our direction, only for it to land in Robbie's miso soup.

He looks like he's still going to eat it and just dispose of the napkin.

"Don't eat that." I grimace.

"Wasn't planning to." Robbie quietly says as he instead goes to push his bowl of soup away from him.

"Um..thanks for coming here with me, Tori."

"Yeah, well..if we stayed at my house any longer, Trina would have had you rubbing glue in the most oddest of places."

"..Glue?" Robbie mumbles around some rice.

"She found a recipe on the internet that stated that glue gets rid of black heads or something. You're supposed to use Elmer's glue, but we only have wood glue, but she'll figure that out later." I shrug.

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"I'm pretty sure it washes off of skin with soap and warm water."

"Right..."

Robbie stirs his white rice around his bowl with his pink plastic training chopsticks for a bit, brow furrowed in thought.

"What ever happened to that girl that you were dating? I mean you would always blow me off to hang out with her—which I don't blame you for because despite the fact that I have never met her, she sounded lovely—"

"I wouldn't exactly call it 'dating'," I cut in. "I don't know what we were exactly...and I decided to stop talking with her." I shrug as I lift my empty glass of water and slide an ice cube into my mouth.

"Why would you stop?" Robbie curiously asks. "I mean you always looked so happy after you hung out with her and you'd be in a good mood for awhile when we hung out together..why would you leave someone that makes you happy?"

"It's more than that." I quietly say. "You just don't know anything Robbie, okay? Pass the soy sauce..."

* * *

It's about a month later, when I see Heather again.

She's at the far end of the black box theater, carefully packing the designated amount of food into each box that will be sent to the Philippines, due to the typhoon that had recently hit. Heather is quickly packing each box, then moving on to the next one as a different guy takes her finished off box and carries it outside.

I didn't expect for her to be here. The only reason I'm here is because Trina has her eyes set on some guy that is in her Italian class. Apparently he's really into doing volunteer work, thus Trina apparently being into it as well.

I can't just stand around, while everyone scurries around me, so I settle for the spot beside Heather (Trina is my ride home and of course the only spot left is beside Heather).

She doesn't notice me when I settle beside her. It's not till about a minute later when I tentatively reach for one of the flat empty boxes (that I unfold and shape correctly), which are right beside her, that she notices me.

Her brows furrow in confusion and I can't blame her because really? We don't see or talk to each other for a month and then I suddenly appear back into her life? Or at least the club that I didn't know she was a member of...

"How've you been?" I mumble as I randomly grab at the cans around me, not even bothering to check if I'm stocking the box correctly.

I think I just placed four cans of yams, instead of just two.

Heather looks at me for a moment, before she shrugs and goes back to stocking her already made box. "Fine, I guess. Nothing has changed, just been super busy this past week with fundraising, gathering donations and finding good deals at local supermarkets, so we can put together these care packages."

I nod as I push my box off to the side, not bothering with taping it closed because I know that I didn't stock it correctly, but it's keeping my hands busy, so I reach for another empty box.

"You're a good person." I say, Heather pausing in her movement as she looks at me curiously.

"I mean technically you don't have to give up your time and money to help people that you don't even know—they're lucky to have someone like you leading this club so they can have something to eat...even if they have to wait several hours to get it. It's something, y'know?"

Heather's lips curve up just a tiny bit. "Thank you."

We're engulfed in a few minutes of silence, the sounds of cans clinking against the tables, tape closing the boxes, and other volunteers chatting to each other around us.

"So how's it going with that girl that you like?" Heather timidly asks.

I raise a brow. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Heather rolls her eyes and playfully bumps her hip against mine as she picks up her now sealed box and hands it over to some volunteer that was patiently waiting off to the side of her table. "We may not have talked about it properly, but I'm pretty sure you left me because you liked someone else—you most likely still like that same person. Tell me I'm wrong."

I frown and give a low grunt as I continue messing up my care packages—I'll just hand them to Trina later. She'll appreciate the excuse to be around that guy for a bit longer.

"I haven't done anything." I mumble as I place four water bottles into the box. "She's not available at the moment—she probably never will be. So why even bother, Y'know?"

"She's a lucky girl." Heather softly says.

I turn and look at her in confusion. "Why?"

"Because you like her...not many can say that" Heather lowly says as she fiddles with one of the flaps of her box.

I close my eyes and quietly ask her if she has any quarters in either of her pockets.

* * *

Sometimes I wonder if I'm a masochist...I've been contemplating that thought for awhile, now.

It's like I want this pain to continue eating away at me—it's like I crave it. I don't...or at least I don't think that I do. Yet I still find myself hanging around Beck, knowing that Jade will be with him as well.

I try and use the excuse that Beck is my best friend. I should be able to tell him anything...yet I find myself not caring about the fact that I'll be in the same room as him.

All I want is to be around Jade, even if she's not in my vicinity.

I've been thinking of keeping a jar for when I have thoughts about Jade...but who am I kidding? One jar wouldn't be enough to contain all the coins that I'd throw in there...plus I'd probably have to use pennies each time I have to make a deposit.

Am I reaching the point of insanity because of this girl? The peak of obsession over someone that I can't have because I have morals, yet if given the chance, I would throw them out in a heartbeat?

Am I a bad person? For having thoughts of throwing my best friend's girlfriend onto my bed and kissing every inch of visible pale skin, murmuring how beautiful that she is and how I'd take care of her? How I have pictured waking up next to her and nuzzling her with the tip of my nose to her cheek to wake her up?

I want to tell her that I love her— that Beck is an idiot who doesn't appreciate her enough—which isn't exactly a lie. He loves her, he really does.

But their are always those times when he comes to my house seeking refuge from Jade because he just can't handle her—handle what, though? The love that she gives him? That rare special smile that is reserved just for him to see? That act of possessiveness she carries because she feels insecure—insecure that she isn't good enough for him and that no one else will ever love her if they ever broke up for good?

Does he not realize that their is someone who would kill, just to see that smile of hers? That smile that is only seen behind closed doors and sometimes in front of the eyes of others because she doesn't give a damn if people see her genuinely happy for just a moment, as long as she has a shoulder to bury her face in, and strong arms to wrap around her body, like a comforting blanket that can't be infiltrated? That someone would take her act of possessiveness as endearing because she loves them so much and will not let them slip through her fingers?

Does Beck not realize that their is someone who is so torn about their feelings and actions and their thoughts—that innocent women are used as a form of comfort, but in a way that will make them think terribly of themselves in the morning, when they realize what happened the night before? That their chance of love was mostly likely shattered, because of just one night that shouldn't have happened when they were in such a vulnerable state of mind?

I like to think that the women that I prey on at parties—that everything will be fine when they wake up.

They had sweet nothings being whispered into their ears, a shoulder to lean and cry on, and just a moment where nothing mattered, where they could just feel good and calm. A moment where they could think that someone cared about how they felt, that they had a form of comfort.

But then they wake up. And everything is just...crap.

Maybe the guy or girl—whatever—that ruined that poor girl, realized that they had made a mistake, by the time that I was engulfed by such a sweet illusionistic warmth?

I could have maybe killed them—people are crazy when it comes to relationships, right? Some kill when being broken up with, while others just want to see them suffer. What if I ended up causing that? The hell if I know, I never see the girls that I sleep with after I wake up, I make sure of that.

Sometimes I like to believe that if I don't remember their pretty faces and their unique names, it's not my problem if I hear something on the news about them.

So far, nothing bad has happened. At least nothing that I am aware of.

* * *

Trina didn't get a date with that volunteer guy.

I, on the other hand, ended up agreeing to go on a date with Heather.


End file.
